Winter Wind
by midnightneverland
Summary: Max struggles with coming to terms with Chloe's death and understanding herself in the process. Warren tries to be there for her the only way he knows how. Sequel to Autumn Storm.
1. Chapter 1

Winter has come with the harsh bite of wind and Max shivers inside her coat. It feels strange to walk upon the long-abandoned autumn leaves on the sidewalk. It's stranger still to be walking alone. It's been two months since Chloe has died, two months since Max has last lifted a hand and felt time thread against her fingers. She hasn't used her powers since she'd rewound to that date in the restroom. She isn't sure if she ever can.

She hates how normal everything continues afterwards—how people still crack horrible jokes, complain about the bitter wind, contemplate what to wear to a party. Her teachers still lecture during classes, their voices droning on in the background in the same sluggish beat. She still has assignments to turn in, homework to do. Life still keeps going.

What bothers her the most are all the memories she's lost. No one can understand why she misses so fervently a girl she hasn't seen or talked to in five years. Her Chloe is a ghost that slips through the cracks beside her, laughing in her dreams, whispers echoing in the wind beside her now.

She slips into the boys' dormitories, pauses at Warren's open door. He's sitting at his desk, arms tense in front of him as he contemplates whatever assignment he's working on. She hasn't known how to talk to Warren these days. Sometimes everything wants to slip out like oil but she's afraid to see rejection in those eyes, or worse, pity. She knows there's a part of her that's not quite all there anymore and when he can see it, the silence that stretches between them is liked barbed wire. And he will step closer and engulf her in a hug that makes her lungs feel as if they're collapsing, as if she's drowning. There are days, though, where she feels like that regardless.

Her feet creak on the floor beneath her and he turns to see her in the doorway. His eyes catch hers, surprised but silent.

She holds up the folded clothing in her arms. "I, uh, was returning your hoodie," she says, her voice too loud in the silence. She feels guilty that it's taken her two months to give it back to him, even guiltier that he hasn't mentioned it since he'd placed it on her that day she was out in the rain. She wishes she could say that it sat in a ball in the corner of her room, forgotten. But the nights when she'd awoken from the worst of the nightmares, her voice hoarse from sleep and trying not to scream, she'd burrowed itself in its familiar warmth, rocking herself back to sleep. It couldn't bring Chloe back but it anchored her in this reality. Where Chloe was nothing but memories and whispers, there, enveloped in a hoodie that smelled like laundry soap, rain, and a faint trace of sweat was what made her aware of her own heartbeat, her own blood that pulsed through her body. _I am real._ Sometimes, she doesn't know what real is anymore.

"Oh. Thanks," he says, holding his hand out for a moment before slowly drawing it back. There is something in her eyes that makes him swallow, hold his breath, before a shaky smile ghosts upon his lips. "Actually, why don't you, you know, keep it for a while. Just in case."

 _In case what?_ She wants to ask, but simply nods, holding the folded hoodie loosely in her hands. She leaves him to study and crashes early, like she usually does. When she wakes later, her screams muffled inside her comforter, her phone lights up with a text.

 _Are you okay?_

She glances up at the mirror next to her bed, her reflection ghostly in the light illuminated from her phone. The bags under her eyes are heavy even in this light. She nestles into the hoodie, her breath fanning against the fabric and draws the phone close to her face.

 _Yes,_ she types.

 _No,_ she thinks.

 _No,_ she sends.

 _On my way,_ Warren's text reads and she should feel guilty, she should feel alone in this world that she crafted with ghosts that follow in the winter wind, but she doesn't. There is a trickle of warmth deep inside her and she clings to it, afraid of what would wait for her in the darkness if she were to extinguish it.


	2. Chapter 2

Max awakens to the soft rumble of Warren's snores beneath her cheek. Her legs are tangled between his and the covers weave like vines between them. She doesn't know what time it is; she loses track of it so easily these days. Seconds drag through mud while days blur before her. The sun is a glare of light in her window and it stings against the rawness of her eyes. She pulls away from him, his shirt still damp from where she'd fallen asleep. He shifts slightly before opening his eyes, blinking at her in confusion and then breaking into a slight smile.

It stills her breath how aptly his attention is focused on her. It's like she is the only thing that matters in this moment and it makes her uneasy. At a time when she can't even pull her pants on without crying, the responsibility of another person is too much.

But the darkness at night is a much bigger monster and if she could be a little selfish and shed some of the fear, let his gentle shushes wash over her thoughts like static, she would let go, one thread at a time.

There is so much she can't tell him. He grasps her hands in his as if she were made of glass, as if were he to breathe too harshly, she would shatter. Some days she feels she will. Some days, she slips her shoes on and runs laps outside, pausing to snap a photo as the moment strikes her. The wind breathes ice into her veins, followed by a rush of adrenaline. It makes her feel dangerous.

He asks his questions carefully and she arranges her answers like puzzle pieces before her. She can't tell him why she flinches at the gaze of a man in glasses, but she alludes to the danger. He knows what happened in the restroom, but not why. These are the pieces she can't quite place on the table. The piece for time travel is still out of reach, and his jokes still pass through her like ghosts. She is not there yet.

But as he pulls his coat around himself to head to his own dorm, ruffling the sleep from his hair and blinking away his own weariness, she thinks she might be one day. She doesn't wince when he pulls her into a hug this time, placing a kiss absently on the top of her head. She doesn't tell him goodbye when he leaves but peers out the window to watch him walking away, turning to wave up at her.

She settles back into the warmth of her bed, barely hearing the chirp of a text message. She fumbles with the phone and Warren's words light up before her.

 _Still here, if you need me._

She is not there yet, but she thinks one day, she may be.


End file.
